“Did one of the men,” Dirk asked, “have his arm in a sling?”
Ackmadan relayed the question. “Yes,” he said.
“Tell your cousin they ditched the boat by the inlet, and it is not secured. I’ll bet the keys are still in it.”
Ackmadan hung up the phone a minute later. “My cousin is very angry. He said he was calling the police to report the men.”
“I doubt they’ll find them,” Dirk said with a glance at Summer. “I think his boat is okay.”
They were shown to their rooms, where they cleaned up for dinner. Summer retrieved a laptop from her luggage and waited for Dirk at a patio lounge that overlooked the lake. A leaky maze of overhead misters cut the baking temperature as the sun faded in the west.
“Is it safe to be seen in public?” Summer asked as he took a seat at her side.
“After all that swimming, I’m too tired to care.” He passed her a gin and tonic he’d collected at the bar.
“I’d like to know,” Summer said, “who these people are.”
“Tomb raiders of some sort.” He noticed an underwater photo appear
on Summer’s computer and leaned in for a closer look. “Faras?”
“Just downloaded from my camera.” She scrolled through a dozen underwater images showing the temple courtyard and shrine, then stopped at a distant photo of the Tutankhamun marker.
“Nice image,” Dirk said, “but difficult to make out the hieroglyphics.”
“I snapped a few close-ups before we left.” She scrolled to the next three photos, each of which featured detailed views.
“Nicely done,” Dirk said. “Those should enable translation.”
Summer tapped at the keyboard, then closed the screen. “I just sent the photos to Hiram and asked him to have Max translate the inscription.” She took a sip of her G and T. “If the WiFi here isn’t as weak as the drinks, we should have a response after dinner.”
Dirk waved over a waiter, and they ordered grilled perch, fresh from the lake. Hungry from their ordeal, they both cleaned their plates. After they split a dried fruit and date compote called khushaf for dessert, Summer checked her email.
“Hiram came through.” Her eyes beamed.
“What does the stela say?”
“Here’s Max’s translation. ‘The King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Nebkheperure, gifts this sanctuary to the priests of Faras. His Majesty reflects on the good of the Faras priests and their curative powers with the plant of Shahat. The sacred apium, taken by Princess Meritaten and thence distributed to the relief of the Habiru slaves, is recognized for its bountiful power. His Majesty directs the priests, in thanks, to pursue all avenues to restore the apium for the health of the Royal Family, in beloved veneration of Amun.’”
“Well,” Dirk said, leaning forward. “That was revealing.”
Summer read it again with eyes wide. “I can’t believe it, another reference to Princess Meritaten.”
“It confirms what we saw in the mural. The apium was indeed acquired by Meritaten—and apparently led to her exile.”
“It also gives us a clue about the plant, evidently from a place called Shahat. Perhaps we can now solve the mystery. But who is this King Nebkheperure?”
Summer shrugged and tried an internet search. She nodded at the result. “I should have guessed. It was the throne name for Tutankhamun. He was, of course, the younger brother of Meritaten, as well as the son and successor of Akhenaten.”
“There was a family that left their mark,” Dirk said, shaking his head. “It sounds like they didn’t realize what they had with this apium until Meritaten came along.”
“She seems to have provided the slaves with the apium against the epidemic. Maybe there was a shortage, and that caused the strife.”
Dirk looked out on the lake. “The tablet you found indicated that Akhenaten himself may have died of the epidemic. Maybe Meritaten took the blame—or was resented for helping others when her father died.”
“Tutankhamun seems to indicate,” Summer said, “they hadn’t realized the power of the apium. Perhaps the Pharaoh shunned it against Meritaten’s better judgment, then she was caught up in a power struggle after his death. Maybe there is something real to this apium. It could be it’s what the gunmen are after.” She took another sip of her drink. “One thing still bothers me. The gunmen at Amarna who stole the mummy.”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too,” Dirk said. “Why didn’t they kill us in the tomb when they had the chance?”